Arthur Salway writes some very delightful poems on cricket. Sample this one on the 11th batsman:
As you watched the wickets fall
You saw the writing on the wall
Are you happy? Not at all
Last man.
The skip says, "Take it nice and steady",
He boosts your ego, unlike Eddie –
He’s changed and in his car already
Last man.
Epitomising melancholy
You walk out feigning to be jolly.
Actually you feel a wally.
Last stand.
The ball is 30 overs old,
You’ve got to do as you are told,
Your gloves are warm and your box is cold,
Last chance
They’re going to stuff us – what a shame.
Last week it was just the same.
You plan to play your natural game.
Last fling.
It’s all the middle order’s fault,
They should have batted as they ought,
But Mel was bowled and Bas was caught,
Last hope.
They come in close and clap you in
You stand between them and a win
The cabaret can now begin.
Last laugh.
All semblance of a match has gone,
They bring the cartoon bowlers on,
Sixty runs off twenty one.
Last wish.
He bowls a wide; can’t even nick it,
Your partner’s halfway down the wicket
Screaming "One" – this isn’t cricket;
Last gasp.
Forty runs off thirteen balls,
Run like hell whoever calls,
Your average is in decimals.
Last over.
When he’s on strike he wants a "two",
He’s not a better bat than you,
But what can tail-end-Charlie do?
Last ball.
Your partner drives, you hear him curse;
Straight to cover – goodnight nurse.
You kept your end up; could be worse.
Last word.
You change alone and here’s the rub,
By the time you reach the pub,
They’ve eaten nearly all the grub.
Last straw.
Love it? Now go read the rest of his creations.
Posted by Anantha.
